


monachopsis

by newchips_samesalsa



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: (tho i seem to forgo the enemies part at times), Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Egregiously Slow Burn, Fluff, Jack is highkey paranoid, Loosely Follows Book, M/M, Piggy Is Still The Only Voice Of Reason :), Simon Is Still Jesus, Student Council, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22502791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newchips_samesalsa/pseuds/newchips_samesalsa
Summary: JACK MERRIDEW, junior at Castle Rock High School, Morning Grind barista. For the longest time, that's all he was. Enter RALPH MADISON, junior transfer, confident and hesitant all at the same time. Somewhere deep in his soul, Jack knows Ralph will make him something new.
Relationships: Jack Merridew & Maurice, Jack Merridew & Roger, Jack Merridew/Ralph, Maurice/Roger (Lord of the Flies), Piggy & Ralph (Lord of the Flies), Piggy & Simon (Lord of the Flies), Ralph & Simon (Lord of the Flies), Roger/Simon (Lord of the Flies)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	1. rantipole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (adj) wild and reckless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry, but im really not

Jack, with all the vengeance of a nation at war, scrubbed the latte machine, grumbling at the new employee, who stood by awkwardly, apologizing profusely for messing up. The boy was wringing his hands, glasses glinting, sweat coating his face.

"I'm sorry," he said once more, voice trembling, threatening to crack in several places.

Jack kept glaring at the machine, which was now gleaming. "Whatever. Don't do it again."

"I won't." The boy pushed back damp hair from his face. Jack immediately told him to wash his hands.

He sighed, wiping his hands on his green apron, leaning against the counter, listening to the chatter of the patrons. College and high school students were doing their work, hanging out with friends, having an existential crisis. He felt an odd disconnection.

The bell above the door chimed. He pushed off the counter, turning on his customer service smile. "Welcome to Morning Grind! What can I do you for?" 

"Can I get a short flat white and a venti dark roast?" The response was awful quiet. The boy shuffled from foot to foot. Jack had seen this boy before in between classes and in choir class; quiet but kind, demurely doing whatever it was he needed to do.

"Of course," Jack said, grabbing two paper cups and turning the smile up a notch. His face was hurting. "Name?"

The boy hesitated. "Simon," he mumbled, hands worrying his hair.

"Got it. Six ten."

The boy, Simon, handed him the money with exact change and ambled off, sitting next to the window, quietly watching the other students. Jack shook his head, quickly making the orders, idly listening to the new employee fumble with dishes as he washed them. He snickered as he poured foamed milk into a vine. He admired his handiwork, setting it down by the dark roast.

"Simon?" he called out, already pushing them forward, the warmth bleeding from the cups into his fingers. Simon took them and beelined it to the door, the bell jingling to signify his leave.

He exhaled softly, hands working to make himself a macchiato, sipping it once he was done. He sat back down on the counter, scrolling on his phone. The new guy made a clattering noise from inside the kitchen area.

He glanced up. "You all good in there?"

"Y-yeah! The plates are slippery!"

He furrowed his brow. "The plates are wet, of course they're slippery."

"Sorry!"

"Maybe actually hold the plates? I heard that works?"

"Okay, I'm sorry."

"Whatever." He turned back to his phone, setting his cup down. He had several texts from Maurice.

**maurice:**

_ who let me be an office ta? :) _

_ actually, who let me get all buddy buddy with the main office in general?? _

**merridew:**

_ what happened? _

**maurice:**

_ we might have a new transfer :)))) _

_ and i have to deal with him :)))) _

_ but _

_ i dont want to take him arouuuuuund _

**roger:**

_ why tf you sign up then _

**maurice:**

_ bc im so smart _

_ but really _

_ i was gonna be productive today _

_ do hw _

_ be social _

**merridew:**

_ youre being social, but just with one person _

**maurice:**

_ sod off, yeah? _

_ im being angry _

_ leave me alone _

_ let me be angry _

Jack snorted, leaving before Maurice could complain more. A godawful clattering sound made him jump, twisting around to face Henry with his china-blue eyes.

"Dishes," Henry said simply, before spinning on the heel, rag in hand to clean the tables.

Jack scowled, tucking his phone away. "Hey, newbie!"

The new guy meekly peered around the corner, soap suds in his hair. Jack bit back a laugh, instead gesturing at the tray of dirty dishes. "More work," he said with a grin.

"My name's Piggy."

Jack blinked. "Piggy?" His eyes flicked down to the new guy's body.

The newbie flushed a bright red, fingers nudging up his glasses, false confidence leaking from his pores. "Yeah. That's what my friends call me." 

Jack's eyes flashed down again. "I wonder why."

Piggy went an even darker shade, lips pressing together, opening his mouth to complain, before closing it again. "Well, my real name is Peter. You could call me that too."

Jack smothered a grin, shaking his head. The corners of his mouth twitched upward anyway, betraying his amusement. "I think Piggy suits you just fine."

Piggy's face scrunched up, fists balling by his side. The bell gave Jack the perfect excuse to ignore him. He heard Piggy huff before gathering up the dishes, taking them to the sink, mumbling to himself all the while about rude colleagues.

Jack fully let his lips curve into a smile as he faced the new customer, who had remained by the door, on his phone. "Hey," he called, waving him over. "The usual?"

Roger finally put his phone away, blank eyes boring deep into the crevices of Jack's soul. "Sure," he said eventually, unblinking.

"Is Maurice coming by?" Jack didn't look up from the glass, shaking his head to knock hair out of his face. He failed miserably.

"No. Got that transfer."

"Is that really gonna take all day?"

Roger shrugged, hand extended for his earl grey tea. He slid it forward, taking up his macchiato. It had cooled significantly.

He chatted at Roger until his shift finished, handing both empty mugs to Piggy, untying his apron, hanging it up and clocking out. He stretched, back popping and crackling, arms sliding into his jacket. He made his way to Roger, waving goodbye to the manager.

He gripped Roger by the shoulder after putting on his beanie. "Let's get learnt, man."

* * *

"I have exactly one-hundred and fifty-three regrets," Maurice said, dropping into his seat like a sack of potatoes, his head banging into the desk. His bag fell to the floor and his hand tightly gripped his thermos of either tea or vinegar. He hoped it was tea. Maurice rarely poured his vinegar into his thermos, but sometimes he liked to give Jack a little surprise in the morning.

"Name at least one." Jack leaned over, tapping him on the head to ensure he was still alive.

"Existing."

"Love that." Jack patted him on the back, pulling away.

Maurice let out a strangled sound, before springing up to his feet, chugging his drink. "But I am so pumped."

"You aren't."

"Fake it til you make, man." Maurice finished his drink and slammed it down, wiping his mouth, smacking his cheeks. "I'm alive!"

"You're alive," Jack echoed blandly.

"I am going to make it through today!"

"Woo."

"Please sound more enthusiastic about this, Merridew."

"I am so enthusiastic."

"I despise you." Maurice dejectedly sat back down, one leg swinging on top of his desk as he slouched down, forehead brushing his thigh.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You're being overdramatic. Stop."

"I don't wanna," Maurice whined, head flopping back, startling the person behind him. "This is my only defining character trait, Jack."

Jack hummed noncommittally, fingers drumming a mindless rhythm as Maurice tried to fix his hastily thrown on clothing. He eventually gave up, instead still trying to wake himself up.

"Get learnt!" Maurice said, cracking his knuckles.

"Mhm. Sure." 

Maurice wore an insane smile, pulling out a bottle from his bag, setting it by the corner of his desk; an ominous threat of digestive cleansing vinegar. Jack shuddered.

"Did you hear about the race they're having at twelve?" Jack said, trying to prolong Maurice's consumption of the 'coffee.' 

"Who's racing who?" Maurice's hand left the vicinity of his bottle. Jack nearly collapsed from relief.

"A couple of freshmen," Jack said, tugging his beanie down over his tired eyes. "I dunno. I know one of them is Henry. Don't ask me about the other. I heard they were racing for honor, though, so the word spread. Someone made posters."

Maurice hummed. "Are we gonna watch it?"

"Unfortunately." Jack pulled his beanie back up.

"But it's at the track. I don't wanna face the Bread Cryptid."

"He only comes out at night, dumbass. Also, he isn't even at the track."

"I just don't wanna go, Jack."

"Too bad."

"But that transfer might want to go. Jesus Christ, I have to go." Maurice dropped his head against the desk. His fingers reached forward. Jack was faster, seizing up the bottle and holding it away. Maurice let out a hurt sound, half-heartedly waving a hand for it, forehead still against fake wood.

"Curse you, Merridew." Maurice's hand formed a fist. "With my final, dying breath will you be cursed to wander this infernal plane."

"I don't care. Don't drink vinegar in my presence anymore."

Maurice crossed his arms, raising his head to reveal a pout. Jack set the bottle on the floor as the teacher walked in, and Jack thanked the gods, because the teacher, much like him, was very uneasy about Maurice's unholy vinegar consumption.

"Alright," Mrs. Ashton said, leaning back against her escritoire. "My wife left me, so we're not learning today, but digging deep into why. And it will be on the test. In fact, it might be the whole test. Just, why my wife left. I really need answers."

"I fucking love this psych class," Maurice said, sounding all too relieved. "I didn't want to learn."

Jack snorted, sharing the sentiment.

* * *

Maurice yawned loudly, arms stretched high above him. "I have to get the transfer," he grumbled.

"Go." Jack shooed him away.

"But my drink…"

"No. This is not a drink. You are not getting this bottle of vinegar back."

"I hate you." 

"Mhm."

Jack threw the bottle in the trash, the clatter drowned out by the chatter of students all milling toward the track. He pushed through, feet dragging as he shouldered away freshmen, idly cursing them beneath his breath. The sea of American voices grated on his nerves. He kicked a rock, snickering as it hit the leg of another student.

The track was packed with bored students wanting to watch a race for honor. The two freshmen were on the line, stretching and twisting, preparing for the race. He recognized Henry, who was wearing his p.e clothes. There was a blond-haired boy beside him, his opponent.

Jack let his eyes bounce about the crowd, searching for either Roger or Maurice. Instead, he spotted Simon, long black hair tied back into a ponytail, on his phone, likely texting. He tilted his head as something coiled in his stomach. He ignored it, instead eyeing Henry again, fists clenched by his side.

"Hey, Merridew!"

Jack half-turned, spotting Maurice parting the crowd, his bright smile unbearably bright. He frowned at the students and Maurice, cursing his popularity.

Maurice was dragging along a fair-haired boy, presumably the transfer. Jack was momentarily shocked by the sheer amount of Nike clothing he was sporting. The boy was staring at everything with wide eyes. Jack could almost see the stars in them 

"Merridew, thanks for getting the good spots." Maurice patted him on the shoulder.

"I didn't do it for you, you heathen," he replied blandly, eyes tracking the way the transfer observed every little thing. "You and your vinegar consumption."

"Anyway!" Maurice interrupted. "Jack, this is Ralph. Ralph, Jack."

"Nice to meet you," the fair-haired boy said, British accent catching him off guard. He didn't meet Jack's eyes.

"Sure."

"Merridew! Be nice!" Maurice's smile became apologetic. "Sorry, Ralph. He's like that sometimes."

"I—"

"Shut. So, Ralph, this is the track, and those two freshmen are racing for honor."

Ralph stopped looking into the crowd, and Jack was immediately taken aback by his eyes. Greenish-blue, unsettlingly pale and bright against the tan of his skin. Attention-grabbing.

Ralph squinted at the competing boys. "Is that Johnny?"

"You know him?" Maurice asked.

"Mm, my brother does." Ralph frowned, fingers worrying his lower lip. "What's a race for honor, anyway?"

"Tradition," Jack said before Maurice could go on a full rant. "I don't know, something about a more civilized way of ending disputes."

"So if you win the race…"

"...you win the argument," Jack finished, nodding. "That's exactly it."

An air horn sounded, and Maurice clapped his hands together. "It's starting. C'mon, let's watch. Are we betting today?"

"Henry will have my head if I bet and don't bet for him," Jack said as the crowd began to press close. 

"Do you not want to bet for him?" Ralph asked, peering around Maurice.

"Henry isn't winning."

"Hm. I mean, Johnny used to be a football player."

"Even more reason. All you do in football is run."

"And kick the ball."

"Irrelevant at the moment."

Ralph laughed, amusement dancing in his odd eyes. "Then I presume football is just track?"

"Exactly." Jack did his best to keep a serious expression on his face, but his lips were twitching upward, threatening to crack his whole facade.

Ralph hummed, and the air horn sounded once more. Henry and Johnny set themselves on the starting line, fingertips brushing the ground, bent over in a sprinter's position.

"One lap!" the announcer shouted. Jack recognized him as Bill from Choir. "400 meters! The majority American population here doesn't get to know how many yards that is! First to cross the finish line wins!"

A cheer rose from the crowd, all of them pressed close to the metal fence that separated them from the two freshmen. Jack rolled his eyes, disinterested.

"On your marks! Get ready!"

"Go!" the crowd shouted.

Henry and Johnny set off, the former forming a respectable lead. But Henry would lose the race.

"How do you know that?" Ralph asked.

Jack nearly lurched out of his skin. "Oh, did I say that out loud? It's just that Henry isn't an endurance runner. He's more suited for short sprints. He's in the lead now, but as soon as he hits the middle of the lap, he's gonna start slowing down."

"It's because he's flat-footed," Maurice announced, finger in the air. "If he wore those shoe inserts he'd be better."

Jack shook his head. "Whatever."

Ralph made a noise of acknowledgment, fingers tapping his chin. "Then why did he decide to race against a football player?"

"Football season hasn't started," Jack said with a shrug. "It's the beginning of the school year. What does Henry know."

Maurice shushed him, totally invested in the race. Henry, as Jack predicted, began slowing down dramatically, giving Johnny a chance to overtake him. 

And overtake him he did, whizzing past Henry in a surprising spurt of energy. The gap between them was growing tremendously. Thenceforth, Henry was unable to make up the difference, allowing Johnny to finish first.

The student acclamation was too loud for a race between two freshmen. Jack nudged Maurice with his shoulder, already forcing his way through the throng of people.

He waited for Maurice and his tag-along by gates of the track, giving them a false smile. "I hated that."

"Then why'd we go?" Maurice crossed his arms.

"Because Henry wanted me to go?"

"Since when are you so close with Henry?"

"Since he joined Morning Grind and I realized that he's nothing more than an overgrown baby?"

"Pathetic counter. Zero out of ten."

"Oh, bugger off."

Maurice gasped. "Not in front of the children, Merridew." He covered Ralph's ears, a disapproving glint in his gaze. Ralph raised an eyebrow, removing Maurice's hands.

"I'm the same age as you."

"Cute little baby." Maurice patted Ralph's hair, sending fair hair tumbling down to cover his eyes. Ralph sputtered indignantly, batting Maurice away, cheeks bright pink. Maurice dragged Ralph into a headlock, and Ralph moved from hitting his hands to aiming for the face.

Jack walked away from them, chuckling. "C'mon, Maurice. Gotta get to choir."

He heard Ralph squawk and one final thud, before Maurice came up to him, matching his steps, breathing quite heavily. Ralph was quick to follow, huffing with crossed arms.

Maurice laughed loudly against the stampede of students' feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback welcome :)


	2. eccedentesiast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (noun) one who hides his pain behind a smile; ‘professional smiler’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as though now is a good time to mention that I will update weekly! Every Thursday! Get ready to put up with this every gd w e e k, yall :D

Maurice led Ralph toward the Castle Rock boarding flats. Ralph nervously pulled at the hem of his shirt. He'd never been to an all-boys boarding school before, much less an American one. He didn't know what to expect. What were American boarding customs? What if he hated his flatmate? What if his flatmate hated him?

"Here's your building!" Maurice declared, snapping Ralph out of his increasingly panicked thoughts. "I think Miss Rose—lovely woman that Miss Rose, set you up with Simon, that godsend. He's also British, so don't worry over that, and a good flatmate."

Ralph hummed noncommittally, releasing his poor, strangled shirt, straightening his spine. Maurice ushered him in, pointing at the lifts as he handed him a key. "Alright, I'm already pressed for time, but you just head in there and press the button for the third floor. Room three-five, got it?"

"Yes, thank you."

Maurice beamed. "Alright, have a good one! Tell Simon I said hey!"

"Mm." He watched Maurice run off. He sighed, pressing the button for the lift. He bounced on his feet, anxiety humming through his veins.

The third floor seemed alive with energy. A thick buzz of electricity that drowned out his anxiety. He made his way to room 35, hesitantly knocking despite also having to live there.

The door opened, revealing a boy with long black hair. Ralph would be lying if he said the boy didn't look like Jesus Christ himself. The boy, Ralph assumed him to be Simon, blinked twice before opening the door wider. "You're Ralph, I hope?"

Ralph smiled awkwardly. "That's me."

Simon stepped aside, letting Ralph in.

It was a moderately sized flat, able to fit a small living room and kitchen, with two different doors leading to the two bedrooms and a third leading to a bathroom. Ralph took in the decorations. it seemed as though Simon was in the choir if the small photos that lined the wall were any indication; groups of boys in suits, all smiling and one boy holding a trophy. He recognized Maurice and his redheaded friend Jack, who didn't look so pleased in the photo.

"Make yourself at home," Simon said, smiling once before making his way into the kitchen, bustling about.

Ralph opened the door beside the one labeled SIMON; it was all bland white and beige, boring and uninspired. He'd have to spruce it up a bit. His luggage was beside his bed, neatly stacked.

He peeked out from his room. "Maurice said hi."

Simon didn't answer, but the clattering of pots decreased in volume for a second. Ralph ducked back into the room, arms akimbo, lips pursed at the bare walls. He was more used to a well-decorated room, something that spoke of memories and life. This empty room was sterile and cold.

Ralph spent the whole day adding little trinkets and bits of personality to his room: a framed picture of his adoptive family; a small figurine of a gnome, a going away gift from Percy; duvets and throw pillows; a grey faux fur carpet from his room back home; books to line the shelf that was thankfully prebuilt. It was coming together, appearing vaguely like his house, taken down a notch.

He proudly grinned at his new room, the sense of home and familiarity curling around him. A type of safety.

He sat on the bed, an old exhaustion settling in his bones. He pressed a hand to his forehead, glancing at the door. He assumed this new flat to be safe enough.

* * *

Through his splinted dreams, he could only decipher raised voices. The clatter of metal and glass. Shattering. Shards against hardwood floors.

Two people fighting. Him, small and thin, huddled up against a wall and something hard, something beyond his bones aching. A fragmented door. Splinters and nothing more. Swinging open. 

Fear.

No, no, no.

Get out, get out.

The consuming ever-present talons of terror.

Get out, no no no.

Splintering door, dark fear, shards scattering, bleeding bodies, two, bruised and dead.

But the shards kept shattering until they were dust.

* * *

Ralph was not having a good time. He'd woken up from his sleep with a headache and unexplainable chills and paranoia. Not only that, but he'd woken up at four in the morning, meaning he had to wait for Simon to wake up to do anything because he still felt awkward in the dorm.

It was dark, but the bed was soft beneath him. He reveled in it. Dark and hard, for whatever reason, didn't go well together.

He sighed, deciding he was being awful childish. He went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, wearing clothes more appropriate for wandering the Castle Rock grounds. He snagged his bag from his room, already filled with his school supplies, throwing it over his shoulders.

He tugged the sleeves of his athletic shirt down as he stood in the elevator. It was five now anyway. Some people woke up at five, right?

The answer turned out to be yes, but only a few. Students on morning jogs, insomniacs, overachieving students.

Ralph made his confused way to the coffee shop he'd seen on his way into Castle Rock. Morning something. He hoped they opened early.

It was, thankfully, open, though mostly empty, save for an exhausted secondary school student or two. He walked in, the jingle above the bell sparking the employee behind the register into action. Red hair gleamed beneath the lights, making it glossy and a brighter shade.

A crooked smile slipped onto his face. "Jack, was it?"

Jack blinked, before shrugging. "Yeah. And you were, uh, Ralph, right?"

"Yes." Ralph chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the side of his face. "Um, could I get a…venti Mint Majesty?"

Jack hummed, tapping it into the cash register, the other hand grabbing a clear cup. "That it for you?"

"Mm." Ralph paid before taking a step or two back.

Jack was efficient in his work, making Ralph's tea in what he could only describe as record time. Ralph stepped back up before Jack could call him over.

"You're fast," Ralph noted, sipping the hot drink.

He snorted. "I better be."

Ralph smiled around the mouth of his lid. "Oh?"

"I've been working here for two years, unfortunately. Pay's good though, therefore I'm not complaining, but some of the people here are weird."

"You can't just leave it at that."

"I'm pretty sure Mark over there, yes over there, don't look, I'm this much certain he's a crackhead, for no other reason than...no wait, I signed an NDA. Anyway, weird."

Ralph stared at Mark from the corner of his eye, shrugging. "NDA?"

"Yeah. It's whatever. By the way, if you see Maurice with a bottle of anything, please take it from him. Thanks, you're the man." Jack drummed his hands on the counter, leaving Ralph.

He took a long drink from his tea, before leaving the shop, setting his bag on the floor before sitting at one of the tables out front, sagging down. He felt so tired, despite just having woken up.

He leaned back, staring at the night stained sky, catching sight of the faint ribbons of the morning. He sighed softly, letting his eyelids flutter shut.

Someone was tapping his shoulder. He jumped, seizing up the hand and dragging the person down, shoving their head into the table. His eyelids fluttered, dusting away black spots and sleep. He had an overweight boy pinned to the table. He immediately let go as soon as he realized, apologizing excessively, hands making large motions.

"No, I suppose that was my bad."

Ralph's lips parted in surprise as the boy fixed his glasses. "Just how many Brits will I run into at this school?"

The boy tried for a smile. "There's quite a few of us."

Ralph's hand shot out. "I'm Ralph, by the way."

"Piggy."

Ralph tilted his head. "Piggy? Why is that?"

Piggy reddened. "It's what my friends call me."

"They don't sound like the best of friends."

"Eh?" Piggy looked surprised. "N-no, they were good friends I assure you."

Ralph pursed his lips. "Whatever you say."

"You're the transfer student, right?" Piggy sat down in front of Ralph. "Simon's been talking about you."

"Talking about me?"

"Nothing bad, nothing bad. It's just that, in all these years he's never really had a flatmate, so he was quite worried on how to treat it. I hope you'll forgive him."

"No, no, yeah."

"Good. Thank you. If you don't mind, I'll be popping by at three. I don't like going back to the flat all that much."

"No, that's fine!" Ralph picked up his empty cup and backpack, standing. He suddenly took note of the morning sky. How long had he been sitting outside? "I feel like I have no room to say whether or not you can come."

"It's your room too."

Ralph made a 'so-so' motion, tucking his hands into his pockets after tossing his cup in a nearby trash can. "Nah, I think for a while it'll stay in Simon's room. But whatever."

Piggy tapped his chin pensively. "If that's what it feels like. But still. It's your room, Ralph."

"Alright."

Ralph knocked shoulders with Piggy, jumping up on the stair's railing, sliding down with and executing a flip. His heart raced, excitement and twinges of fear sparking in his heart once he landed, but pride quickly swallowed him whole. A pleased expression flitted across his face.

"Wow!" Piggy grabbed him by the arm, jostling him a bit. "That was so cool!"

Ralph grinned. "I do parkour from time to time. Nothing special."

"'Nothing special'? That was bloody brilliant!" Piggy was vibrating with what seemed to be excitement. "Wow, I wish I could do that."

Ralph mulled it over for a second. "You know any—"

"Athletics? No." Piggy shrugged. "I'm not athletically inclined, if you couldn't tell."

"You never know."

Ralph and Piggy walked side by side, onward to building D. Ralph glanced at Piggy from the side of his eye. "What class you got?"

"Uh, maths, D-9."

Ralph nodded slowly. "Me too."

Piggy turned his face away. "Oh, that's good."

They strode into the classroom, a shroud of confidence surrounding Ralph. He waved at the teacher, allowing Piggy to slip in unnoticed, because, evidently, they were several minutes late. 

"Hello, Mister Madison," the teacher said, her eyebrows gently raised, head listed to one side. Her American accent was thick, with a twang that could have only come from the South. "You are in the seat next to Roger over there."

Ralph inclined his head, squeezing through the tightly packed desks, dropping his things and nudging them below his seat with his foot. He settled down, immediately off-put by the sheer size of the boy next to him. Roger.

He was large and imposing, the dead expression on his face not helping the fact that he looked like he could kill a man impassively. He wasn't taking notes like the rest of the class, instead watching mindlessly, eyes tracking nothing Ralph could see.

"Very well," the teacher said. "We will now be going over…"

* * *

Ralph had a map of the school in hand, squinting at it as to decipher where the hell he was going. Then he realized he was holding it upside down, somehow, and he had an easier time heading to his next class.

He had Eleventh Year English, which the Americans had under Junior English, which baffled him. He hated that concept of renaming the years once you hit secondary school, but those weren’t his grievances to air. It’s not like he’d be at Castle Rock for an inordinate amount of time anyway.

He stepped into class, giving the teacher a sort of half-smile, conveying a greeting more than joy. The layout was tables with chairs, set up in rows. The teacher gestured for him to take a seat next to the window. Ralph gave the teacher an inclined head and headed over, sighing with exhaustion, staring out the large, spanning windows.

It had a clear view of the courtyards, where students stood around in groups, interacting and laughing. A pang went through him, reminding him of the friends he had back home. Percy had already called him to say he’d made new friends, and Samneric had texted to say the same. What did Ralph have except for acquaintances?

The school bell rang, sounding of bells and chimes. The passing break was over and class was to begin. He exhaled softly, setting his things on his desks in a certain order, eyes bouncing to the door every time a student walked through, greeting the teacher amiably. They filled out the seats, still chatting with friends.

“Wow, you again.”

Ralph glanced up and to the right. Jack was placing his bag on the table, rummaging through for a pen and paper. He sat down, rubbing the side of his nose.

"You seem to be everywhere." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Are you following me?" He said it with a secretive tone, hiding his mouth behind his fingers.

Ralph snorted, giving him a pointed look. "If I were to follow someone, I assure you, it wouldn't be you."

Jack shook his head, feigning a hurt expression. "You wound me."

Ralph rolled his eyes. "Sure."

Jack's attention abruptly switched from Ralph to a teen lingering by the door anxiously. Once their eyes met, the boy ducked his head and scurried towards a seat near the back. Ralph bemusedly watched it happen, turning questioning eyes to Jack, who shrugged, twirling his black ink pen with a smirk.

The class was full now, voices drifting through the room, unbothered by the ringing bell. Jack's pen sailed through the air in an arc, falling hack to land in his hand. "Where'd you go before Castle Rock?" Jack tossed up the pen again.

"Hm? Oh, Kingston Academy." Ralph scratched his cheek.

"Oho, London? You were in London before this? I sure do pity the fact that this is your first introduction to American schooling. What was it that made you leave the mother country, Ralph?"

Ralph froze, midway through readjusting his notebook. The teacher saved Ralph from responding. "Quiet down, quiet down."

Student chatter dwindled to whispers and faint giggles. The sound of a pencil falling to the floor.

"Now, please begin reading out of your books. Page three zero nine. Please take notes and answer the questions at the end of the reading."

Jack placed the textbook between them with a grin. "You didn't bring it, did you?"

"I didn't think I'd have to," Ralph mumbled, scooching forward, opening his spiral notebook. "Also, I don't have any of the textbooks yet, so."

Jack didn't respond to that, instead leaning back in his chair, head tilted to the ceiling. Ralph leaned forward, electing to ignore Jack's obvious attempt at further questioning with that pathetic disposition. Ralph read from the book, taking notes when necessary.

His exhaustion was slowly mounting. The room's temperature grew to a stifling level, filling his lungs with hot air. 

The textbook was blurry.

His head hurt.

* * *

Ralph walked into dorm 35, tired and in need of a nap. And maybe food.

He heard Piggy and Simon before he saw them, giving them a half-hearted wave. He made his immediate way to his room, throwing himself onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge.

"You good in there, mate?"

Ralph made a sound he hoped meant 'enough.' Footsteps grew closer. There was a knocking at his door.

"Ralph? Ralph?"

He lifted his head in confusion. "Who is it?"

"Ralph?"

He stood, legs weak and trembling, knees threatening to buckle. Fear like ice coursed through his veins in a crude imitation of blood. "Hello?"

"Ralph? Ralph, open the door."

It wasn't Piggy. It wasn't Simon. Hell, it wasn't Maurice or Jack. It was an old, familiar voice. Something that tickled at the back of his mind.

"Ralph? Please."

His hands were damp and his eyes were too. His chest was caving in, lungs snapping beneath the pressure. He fell to his clattering knees, gasping desperately for air his lungs could no longer process, leaving him floundering. 

Moss was growing between his ground down teeth, small flowers blooming. Vines ensnared his limbs, connecting him to the Earth. A tree sprouted up from his stomach. He was becoming something beautiful, in a way. 

His blood watered the tree. The tree tore him apart, making more blood. An endless cycle.

But he loved it.

"Ralph, why did you leave?"

A hand was running through his hair made of roots and grass. Gentle and airy. Clouds.

"Ralph, you left Mum alone. Doesn't that make you feel bad? Leaving Mum alone with Dad? Daddy isn't very nice, is he? No, he isn't."

The hand turned into a vice. Grass ripped from foundations, roots pulled from the tree. His scalp a fire and thoughts, the forest. All going up in cinder sparked smoke.

"Come back to Mummy. Mummy will always love you."

Rustle of leaves. Screaming winds.

"Come back, baby boy. Come to Mummy. Come home."

"Athletics? No." Piggy shrugged. "I'm not athletically inclined, if you couldn't tell."

"You never know."

Ralph and Piggy walked side by side, onward to building D. Ralph glanced at Piggy from the side of his eye. "What class you got?"

"Uh, maths, D-9."

Ralph nodded slowly. "Me too."

Piggy turned his face away. "Oh, that's good."

They strode into the classroom, a shroud of confidence surrounding Ralph. He waved at the teacher, allowing Piggy to slip in unnoticed, because, evidently, they were several minutes late. 

"Hello, Mister Madison," the teacher said, her eyebrows gently raised, head listed to one side. Her American accent was thick, with a twang that could have only come from the South. "You are in the seat next to Roger over there."

Ralph inclined his head, squeezing through the tightly packed desks, dropping his things and nudging them below his seat with his foot. He settled down, immediately off-put by the sheer size of the boy next to him. Roger.

He was large and imposing, the dead expression on his face not helping the fact that he looked like he could kill a man impassively. He wasn't taking notes like the rest of the class, instead watching mindlessly, eyes tracking nothing Ralph could see.

"Very well," the teacher said. "We will now be going over…"

  
  


Ralph had a map of the school in hand, squinting at it as to decipher where the hell he was going. Then he realized he was holding it upside down, somehow, and he had an easier time of heading to his next class.

He had Eleventh Year English, which the Americans had under Junior English, which baffled him. He hated that concept of renaming the years once you hit secondary school, but those weren’t his grievances to air. It’s not like he’d be at Castle Rock for an inordinate amount of time anyway.

He stepped into class, giving the teacher a sort of half-smile, conveying a greeting more than joy. The layout was tables with chairs, set up in rows. The teacher gestured for him to take a seat next to the window. Ralph gave the teacher an inclined head and headed over, sighing with exhaustion, staring out the large, spanning windows.

It had a clear view of the courtyards, where students stood around in groups, interacting and laughing. A pang went through him, reminding him of the friends he had back home. Percy had already called him to say he’d made new friends, and Samneric had texted to say the same. What did Ralph have except for acquaintances?

The school bell rang, sounding of bells and chimes. The passing break was over and class was to begin. He exhaled softly, setting his things on his desks in a certain order, eyes bouncing to the door every time a student walked through, greeting the teacher amiably. They filled out the seats, still chatting with friends.

“Wow, you again.”

Ralph glanced up and to the right. Jack was placing his bag on the table, rummaging through for a pen and paper. He sat down, rubbing the side of his nose.

"You seem to be everywhere." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Are you following me?" He said it with a secretive tone, hiding his mouth behind his fingers.

Ralph snorted, giving him a pointed look. "If I were to follow someone, I assure you, it wouldn't be you."

Jack shook his head, feigning a hurt expression. "You wound me."

Ralph rolled his eyes. "Sure."

Jack's attention abruptly switched from Ralph to a teen lingering by the door anxiously. Once their eyes met, the boy ducked his head and scurried towards a seat near the back. Ralph bemusedly watched it happen, turning questioning eyes to Jack, who shrugged, twirling his black ink pen with a smirk.

The class was full now, voices drifting through the room, unbothered by the ringing bell. Jack's pen sailed through the air in an arc, falling hack to land in his hand. "Where'd you go before Castle Rock?" Jack tossed up the pen again.

"Hm? Oh, Kingston Academy." Ralph scratched his cheek.

"Oho, London? You were in London before this? I sure do pity the fact that this is your first introduction to American schooling. What was it that made you leave the mother country, Ralph?"

Ralph froze, midway through readjusting his notebook. The teacher saved Ralph from responding. "Quiet down, quiet down."

Student chatter dwindled to whispers and faint giggles. The sound of a pencil falling to the floor.

"Now, please begin reading out of your books. Page three zero nine. Please take notes and answer the questions at the end of the reading."

Jack placed the textbook between them with a grin. "You didn't bring it, did you?"

"I didn't think I'd have to," Ralph mumbled, scooching forward, opening his spiral notebook. "Also, I don't have any of the textbooks yet, so."

Jack didn't respond to that, instead leaning back in his chair, head tilted to the ceiling. Ralph leaned forward, electing to ignore Jack's obvious attempt at further questioning with that pathetic disposition. Ralph read from the book, taking notes when necessary.

His exhaustion was slowly mounting. The room's temperature grew to a stifling level, filling his lungs with hot air. 

The textbook was blurry.

His head hurt.

  
  


Ralph walked into dorm 35, tired and in need of a nap. And maybe food.

He heard Piggy and Simon before he saw them, giving them a half-hearted wave. He made his immediate way to his room, throwing himself onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge.

"You good in there, mate?"

Ralph made a sound he hoped meant 'enough.' Footsteps grew closer. There was a knocking at his door.

"Ralph? Ralph?"

He lifted his head in confusion. "Who is it?"

"Ralph?"

He stood, legs weak and trembling, knees threatening to buckle. Fear like ice coursed through his veins in a crude imitation of blood. "Hello?"

"Ralph? Ralph, open the door."

It wasn't Piggy. It wasn't Simon. Hell, it wasn't Maurice or Jack. It was an old, familiar voice. Something that tickled at the back of his mind.

"Ralph? Please."

His hands were damp and his eyes were too. His chest was caving in, lungs snapping beneath the pressure. He fell to his clattering knees, gasping desperately for air his lungs could no longer process, leaving him floundering. 

Moss was growing between his ground down teeth, small flowers blooming. Vines ensnared his limbs, connecting him to the Earth. A tree sprouted up from his stomach. He was becoming something beautiful, in a way. 

His blood watered the tree. The tree tore him apart, making more blood. An endless cycle.

But he loved it.

"Ralph, why did you leave?"

A hand was running through his hair made of roots and grass. Gentle and airy. Clouds.

"Ralph, you left Mum alone. Doesn't that make you feel bad? Leaving Mum alone with Dad? Daddy isn't very nice, is he? No, he isn't."

The hand turned into a vice. Grass ripped from foundations, roots pulled from the tree. His scalp a fire and thoughts the forest. All going up in cinder sparked smoke.

"Come back to Mummy. Mummy will always love you."

Rustle of leaves. Screaming winds.

"Come back, baby boy. Come to Mummy. Come home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback aggressively welcome :D
> 
> yelling at me if one hundred percent okay :DD
> 
> will also start responding to comments, due to a dear friend 'asking me politely' :DD so be on the lookout for that!
> 
> ~ Kronos


	3. supercilious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (adj) behaving as though you think you are better; arrogant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is time

Jack was growing only mildly worried. Ralph had put his head down and hadn't picked it up since then. He was very clearly asleep, but that wasn't what was concerning him. It was the twisted expression on his face. Almost like he was having a nightmare.

Jack poked Ralph's shoulder. "Hey, mate. Mate?"

Ralph muttered something, brows creasing, face pushing deeper into the crook of his elbow. His hands shook beneath his head. Jack made out something like 'sorry.'

"Mate, wake up." 

He could see moisture on Ralph's cheeks and briefly wondered if it was sweat or tears. Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and shook, startling Ralph into awareness,

He nearly hit Jack in the face, but he grabbed Ralph's arm and jerked it down, raising his other hand. "Miss Merriam? May we please go to the restroom? Madison's about to puke all over your freshly polished floors."

"Go, go, Merridew." Miss Merriam was practically shooing them out, shooting worried glances at Ralph.

Jack all but dragged Ralph to the washroom. He shoved him in and locked the door. Ralph was frowning, still trying to blink away sleep.

"What happened?" Ralph asked, looking all too confused.

"You were having a nightmare." Jack did jazz hands. "So welcome to the Depression Washroom."

Ralph's fingers touched his still moist cheeks. "Oh. Don't worry, it happens often. I didn't even know I fell asleep."

"You have nightmares often? Doesn't sound so fun." The sink dug into Jack's side. 

"It isn't so fun, but I get by." Ralph, at a different sink than the one Jack was leaning against, splashed water in his face, removing every trace of tears and nightmares.

"Obviously you don't, you fell asleep in class. That doesn't sound like getting by."

"Ah, but it is for me." Ralph wore a strained smile. "Now if you can excuse me, I believe I have classes to attend to."

Jack pulled a face, watching Ralph leave. He exhaled sharply, pursing his lips at his reflection. Something in his eyes was not his own.

He slammed his hands on the porcelain and strode out of the washroom. He glared at the photo-arts students, and they meekly returned to what they were doing.

He tsked, hands turning into fists, footfalls growing in ferocity. He was, for whatever reason, steaming. Absolutely furious. It was simmering in his veins, intoxicatingly scorching, trying to lure him into something darker.

His right fist jerked to the side, the sound of a metal locker against flesh verberated in the hall. More photo-art students flinched, pressing against each other to get away from him.

Flames tempered down to cinders.

He sighed, rubbing his knuckles against his shirt. He rarely angered. It took too much energy. Energy he didn't want to waste.

He never went back to English.

* * *

Lunchtime brought out the crazy in every student. Walking from the C Wing to E Block always meant he had to listen to screaming sophomores and racing freshmen, which then gave him a headache, which then made him mildly irritable. He had a love-hate relationship with lunch.

He sat down beside Maurice, who was luckily without a bottle. But he was playing with his pocket hose, almost like he wanted Jack to take it away. So he did.

“Wha—hey! My hose!” Maurice frowned.

“Why do you carry this thing around?” Jack shook it, not liking how the green fabric flopped around. “So stupid. Why do you even need it?”

“Emergencies.” Maurice held out his hand. “Give it back.”

“Nope.” He shoved it deep into the abyss that was his backpack. He was glad Miss Merriam hadn’t interrogated him after he went to retrieve it. “It belongs to the trash now.”

“Ten dollars.” Maurice threw his hands up. “Down the drain, just like that. I have to go back to Walmart now.”

“Please don’t.” It was Roger, an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes were on Maurice. “You’ll get lost again.”

Maurice flushed bright red. “That was one time, Roger. Once.”

“If it happens once, it can happen again.” Jack toed his bag beneath the table.

“This family sucks.” Maurice pouted, arms crossed, slouching in his seat. “Oh! How are you liking the transfer?”

“Haven’t met him,” Roger said, digging into his lunch.

“Bloody legend,” Jack muttered, pulling out his own, wrinkling his nose.

“Oho? Sounds like there’s something to be said here. Go on.” Maurice seemed to have completely forgotten about his pocket hose, for which Jack felt great gratitude.

“Nothing to be said,” Jack said, palms up. “Nothing at all.”

“Aw, are you certain? It’s been quite boring today. I was hoping you had a better time than me.”

“I’m quite certain, Maurice. But I’ll let you know if that ever changes.”

Maurice grinned, but his eyes were still tired. “Yeah, well. Wait. Oh, bloody hell, I forgot to go get him. Do you think he’s managing? Oh, no, by the grace of God, I’m doing such a terrible job.”

“Text him?” Jack suggested, pointing a fork at his panicking friend.

Maurice snapped his fingers. “You’re a bloody genius, may I just say. I will get down on my knees right now and propose. You’re a man after my own heart, Merridew.” He pulled out his phone, frantically texting Ralph, overly worried and anxious. “Oh, sweet Lord, he’s alive. Thank Jesus.”

“He’s not a child, Maurice.” Jack flicked Maurice’s forehead. “I think he can care for himself. I mean, you manage.”

“That’s rude.” Maurice pushed Jack’s face away. “Hey, wait. Blimey! Why are your knuckles cut? Jack?”

“Nothing, Maurice. You worry too much over nothing.”

“I’m worrying just enough, Merridew. What did you hit?” Maurice, to emphasise his point, whacked Jack upside the head. “Sam from photo-arts told me a kid hit the lockers. Was that you?”

“No,” Jack said, trying to push Maurice away. "I didn't do it, Maurice, by God. Let go! Blimey, I didn’t hit anything!"

"You did, you tosser." Maurice latched onto his wrist tighter, nails digging in. "I will knock you into next week if you don't tell me why."

"Don't be so pushy, Maurice. I'm fine, I didn't hit the lockers, that's a barmy idea."

"He hit the lockers," Roger interrupted, before taking a bite of his meat.

"How would you know that?" Jack asked.

"I have eyes." Roger shrugged.

"You weren't there, though?"

"Eyes."

“Why are you like this?” Jack threw a french fry at him from Maurice’s tray. “Don’t be like this. You’re so ominous, I hate you.”

“Don’t throw my food,” Maurice said, grabbing him by the forearm, forcing his arm down. “I will cut you.”

“Whatever, whatever, Maurice.” Jack let go of the fry, suddenly recalling how terrifying Maurice could get. The fry fell limply onto the tray.

There was a sudden uproar from somewhere down the quad. They turned their heads together, blinking at that large crowd that was cheering and shouting. Most of them were freshmen from the looks of it. Maurice bunched his lips to one side. “They must have a pocket hose.”

“Shut up.” Jack stood up, making his way through the thick of the crowd, forcing his way to the middle. The same boys from the year’s first official race were in the center, fighting. With Beyblades. Chanting that stupid song and ‘letting them rip.’

“Let’s go!” a pair of twins chorused, miming the release of the Beyblades.

“You got this, Henry!” one said.

“Johnny Boy, c’mon!” the other said.

“Shut up!” both Henry and Johnny said in unison, intently focusing on their metal tops.

Jack shook his head, rolling his eyes. “This is so stupid.” He left the circle.

* * *

Student council was Jack’s favorite part of the day. He tended to lead discussions and dominate debates. He was, for all intents and purposes, the leader. Unofficially, of course, since the school had yet to vote on an actual president and the student council had yet to choose a vice president.

Ralph Madison, somehow, had joined the student council. He sat beside Simon, who attended meetings but rarely spoke. And yet, Simon had always been in the running for unofficial leader. It irked Jack to no extent. And Ralph being in the student council did too.

“Well, well, Jack Merridew, so generous as to join us.” Miss Brighton said, eyes shining. “It’s never a boring day with you around.”

“You flatter me, Miss Elise.” Jack smiled at her and took his seat near the front.

“Today,” Miss Brighton was saying as Jack eyed the pair in the back. “We have a new face joining us. There in the back, Ralph Madison.”

Ralph waved a hand, to the delight of the members, surprisingly. He was already so well-liked? He’d only been going to Castle Rock for two days. Two bloody days. How does one get so adored in two whole days?

“And besides that, we will be electing the vice president!”

Pieces of paper were passed out. Jack took his and simply left it on the desk, ignoring it. He didn’t need to vote if he’d win. He stood and made his way to the front, a declaration of leadership. Simon stood beside him, hopefully not because he was running, but because he was accompanying Ralph, who seemed as though he was running for leader too, a confident smile on his face. The student council was eating it up, this poised pretty boy persona, self-assured and charismatic. Jack’s stomach churned. Ralph, having only been at Castle Rock for two days, already seemed to be capturing the attention of the entire school. 

The council members began writing away, the sound of scratching pencils against paper filling Jack’s mind. A manifestation of mounting tension. All turned to sound.

Jack was, in some way, nervous. The ballots were going in. This could be his moment. This could be the moment where his name appeared on most of the slips of paper. This could be where he, Jack Merridew, became the student council leader.

Simon didn’t look nervous. He didn’t look worried at all. He gazed on with indifference. Like he knew he was going to win. 

Did Simon Nevison think he was better than Jack Merridew?

What good qualities did Simon have, anyway? Being quiet all the goddamn time? Those weren’t good leadership qualities, were they? Were they?

The room was a nasty blur, red and white. His jaw twinged from the pain of clenching down. He grit his teeth, crossing his arms. It would be so easy to--

“And vice president of this here student council will be, drum roll please!” Miss Brighton held out on them for a few beats, dragging out the suspense. “Decided at the end of this meeting, thank you!”

Jack kept his head high, not letting a single ounce of his anger or anxiety fill his face. He set aside his blank slip of paper and turned to the student council. Before him was a paper full of all the things that needed to be addressed. “First issue, the vandalism. The outside of the cafeteria seems to be most targeted, with crude displays of, um, limbs. Limbs is the word I will use.”

He ignored the scattered chuckling. “Every time we take it down, it gets repainted, in exactly the same way, meaning it has to be the same person who does it every time.”

“Have you set up cameras or something of the sort?” Ralph asked, leaning forward to peer around Simon. “You know, to catch who it is that’s doing it?”

“Not at all,” Jack admitted, jotting the idea down, cursing himself for being so stupid as to not think of it. “Thank you, Madison. Now comes the issue of purchasing those cameras, but Bill over here can solve that, can’t you Bill?”

The secretary of treasury grinned, flashing a thumbs up and jotting it down. 

“Excellent, thank you, Bill.”

Jack quickly flipped through the packet. Most of the qualms had been struck out, likely already solved by administration. That hopefully meant not a lot to go over.

He smirked, anticipation for the vice president spot still coursing through his veins. He didn’t want Simon in the running at all.

"Okay, now is mostly just the flowers that administration wishes to have outside of the pod buildings, which we need plans for, and the whole shenaniganry that will be the student council president elections.

"Usual rules for application apply, so don't be shy, go for it, do what you think must be done—"

"But you’re gonna win, ain’t ya Merridew!" one of the members shouted, shooting up to his feet. "That’s our British boy!"

"There's other—okay. Whatever. Thank you for your vote of confidence Andrew." Jack motioned for him to settle down.

"I think now is about the time that I pass the torch to our lovely Miss Elise to tell us the results for VP."

Cheering, clapping. Miss Brighton took the spotlight, the results in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me :)
> 
> ~Kronos


	4. whelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (v) to bury something; to hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot happens

Ralph flooded with excitement. Piggy had been talking about how Simon was a good leader. Ralph wouldn't mind seeing him fill the vice president spot.

Miss Brighton stood in the front of the room, drawing out the suspense for a terribly long amount of time. She spread out her hands. “The vice president spot goes to Simon Nevison.”

Ralph felt Simon startle beside him. He applauded his flatmate, grinning. "Brilliantly done, Simon!"

"Who voted for me?" Simon murmured, quietly accepting the vice president position with a small nod of his head.

"Well, I for one did." Ralph's grin was all teeth. "And Piggy behind the computer over there likely did too. And let me tell you, Simon, I don't regret it one bit."

Simon blinked before turning away, settling his eyes on the table. If Ralph's eyes weren't deceiving him, Simon was  _ flustered _ .

"Alright, thank you Miss Elise." Jack took back the room's attention, a pleasant smile overtaking his face. "And congratulations to Simon Nevison, on the esteemed VP spot."

Another round of applause. Scattered but enthusiastic cheers.

"Now all that's left is the school's choice for President, the campaigns of which will begin starting next Monday." Jack straightened his stack of papers with a loud thud. "And that concludes today's meeting."

"Alright!" the energetic American boy who threw his full support behind Jack shouted. "Let's do this! I'm still behind ya Jackie boy!"

"Please don't."

"Woo!" He charged out of the council room, fists in the air, knocking into the top of the frame. Ralph smothered a laugh.

"Whee," Jack responded with much less energy, gathering up his things.

"You're running for president, aren't you?" Ralph piped up, trying to catch Jack's eyes. And there was something cold in them, but only for a second so brief he wondered if he imagined it.

"I am," Jack said, a tinge of pride colouring his voice. "And I presume you are as well?"

"That I am." Ralph examined Jack's eyes. Verglas. 

"Well, then I wish you luck on the battlefield." Jack got up, backpack landing dully on his back. And he left.

"He's not so amiable," Simon commented quietly.

"I guess not," Ralph agreed. "But Maurice thinks highly of him."

"Maurice thinks highly of a lot of people." Simon shook his head. "It's a very low bar, Ralph."

"Are you saying I shouldn't talk to him?"

"I didn't say that at all. All I'm saying is not to put all your faith in him, okay?" Words picked from the Tree of Knowledge. Golden and intoxicating.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Thanks for the heads up, Simon."

Simon stared at him for a beat, obviously disbelieving, before nodding slowly. He left alone Ralph at the table.

The apple had never before looked so disgusting.

* * *

Ralph was vibrating in his seat, and Piggy kept shooting his looks out of the corner of his eye. Eventually he sighed, turning with a raised brow. "What is it that's got you so worked up? It can't just be the campaign."

"It is though!" Ralph was  _ buzzing _ . "Also! Any job recommendations? I hate relying on the parents. I always feel so indebted."

"There's the coffee shop I work at?"

"Nah. I could never. The vibe is so...over the top. No offence.

"None taken. Uh. There's a flower shop beneath the Morning Grind? Is that less over the top?"

"Oh? Interesting. Flower shop? You should definitely take me. My Mum used to love flowers. Especially the red spider lily. Crazy about them."

Piggy hummed noncommittally, turning back to his phone. "I think they're hiring. Yeah, I'll take you. I think the owner will appreciate the help."

"Wicked." Ralph fell back, deflating. He suddenly felt spent. 

"Okay," Piggy said, showing Ralph his phone. "I have some rough ideas for your campaign."

"You're a bloody legend, Piggy." Ralph gingerly took the phone, still limp against the back of the couch. "You and Simon. You really don't have to do this."

"It's better than Jack." Piggy's nose wrinkled, a teasing glint flashing behind his specs. "He'd be insufferable. Well. More so than usual."

"Ah?"

"Yes, parading about all day, 'look at me, I'm the President, bow before my every whim.'"

Ralph chuckled, reading the ideas on Piggy's notepad app. He smiled with approval. "These are good ideas, thank you."

"It's nothing." Piggy went red anyway. "I came up with them off the top of my head, it's nothing, really."

"You're brilliant," Ralph went on, handing Piggy his phone back. "We should run it by Simon and then commence the campaigning on Monday."

“Go for it,” Piggy said, tucking the phone away. 

“But take me to this flower shop I’ve been hearing so much about.”

Piggy sighed, but got up. “It’s called Loquacious. Yes, yes, funny name for a flower shop, but the owner always said she named it that because it was a flowery word, and ' _ wow, flower words, flowers, match made in heaven _ !'"

Ralph chortled, picking up his sweater and throwing it on. Piggy kept shaking his head.

The store was right below the Morning Grind, and Ralph was unsure how he missed it the first time; it exuded a bubbly energy, striking and different. Though, compared to the Morning Grind's atmosphere, it was twee and unnoticeable.

Piggy opened the door for Ralph, who thanked him. He stepped into what he could only describe as a dreamscape. Flowers hung, suspended by near invisible strings that Ralph hoped would hold them, wound around with soft blue lights, obscuring the pots, dangling down in luminescent vines; there was a chill that burrowed deep, meeting bone then even further still; a thin mist danced through the store, shortening the vision; long plants snaked up to the ceiling, swaying in the cool breeze; the walls were textured, reminiscent of a cave. Ralph was in awe.

"Hello!" a voice beyond the mist said, bright and cheery, in an odd American accent. "What can I help you with?"

"Miss Fairfield? Hi, are you still hiring?" Piggy dragged Ralph through the store, waving away the haze.

"Peter? Oh, dearie, did you want work? I thought you decided to work upstairs? At the Morning Grind?"

Miss Fairfield was a stout woman, with a kind wrinkled face and worried eyes hidden behind thickly lensed glasses. Her fingers worried at each other, shaking and knobby. She looked so polite.

"Nah, not for me, Miss Fairfield." Piggy grinned at her as she reached up for a hug. "For my friend over here. His name's Ralph."

Miss Fairfield peered around Piggy, squinting. "Ah. Hello, dear. You want work?"

"Yes, Miss Fairfield." Ralph matched her smile. "If it's not too much work."

She laughed airly. "Oh, dear, it's not too much work. Quite the opposite." She winked.

Piggy met Ralph's eyes. "I guess you have work now, Ralph. Right below me too. Wicked."

"Wicked," Ralph echoed, wrapping his arms tighter around his torso to ward off the nip of cold. It was layered on his skin.

"Well then, Ralph." Miss Fairfield was beaming, cutting through the dimness of the store. "Welcome to Loquacious, dearie!"

* * *

"We actually get busy quite a bit," Miss Fairfield giggled, waving a dainty hand. "A lot of children come through, mostly to enjoy the scenery. But they always buy at least one flower. That's why we have it open in the middle., you see? A lot of people just like the scenery."

Ralph gazed through the mist. He could envision droves of teenagers, lounging on the chairs, especially on summer days if it was always this cold. He could visualise the liveliness.

"That seems very nice," he commented. He set a pot of what was labeled euphrasia down on the countertop.

"It is." Miss Fairfield perched on a loveseat. "It's lovely. I simply adore the kids. So polite."

"I bet they are."

On cue, the bell above the door jingled. Ralph squinted through the vapor.

"Welcome, dear," Miss Fairfield called out. "What can I help you with?"

"Oh, I just need some flowers…"

"I'll be right there, love!" Miss Fairfield patted Ralph's elbow, tottering through the store.

Ralph ducked behind the counter, sitting on the floor. A bundle of red flowers labeled adonis sat before him, wilting and dull.

It was not having a good time in this cave equivalent of a Costco produce and/or milk section.

He sighed, gathering it up in his arms. The cut off stems dug into his arms. He brushed gentle fingers over the petals. He was at ease in this flower shop.

There was so, so much ease.

Ease.

* * *

The flowers bent underneath the harsh winter rain. The patio umbrellas had long since fallen over, laying in puddles. It was like sheets if water were falling from the sky; essentially a water full, dangerous in its pressure.

It was a cold winter. Wet. Absolutely damp. He knew that if he went outside, he'd be immediately soaked to the bone. Soaked down somewhere deeper than his bones. His soul.

He was under the awning. He wasn't allowed inside. But he wasn't all the way outside, and so he was appreciative.

Mum and Dad were probably inside, arguing. Fighting. Yelling.  _ Screaming _ .

The flowers, red and bright, drowning in rainwater. The soil, too wet. Drowning. Taking in too much.

Drowning.

He could hear it from outside, swears and enough emotion to rival a child having a tantrum. Grating sounds. Fighting.

The red flowers. Drowning. Swimming. Melting.

"That is no child of mine," his father was saying. Screaming. "I refuse to acknowledge the filth that you've brought into this house. Into  _ my _ house."

"He's just a baby, what is wrong with you, Ollie? He's just a baby!" 

Flesh against flesh. A smack.

His fault.

_ His fault _ .

The flowers sank.

He was hungry. He hadn't eaten in a while, had he? But Mum wouldn't want him leaving. Not with the weather as bad as it was.

He always listened to his parents.

"How dare you? You bloody cunt, after all I've done for you and that parasite, you dare raise your voice at me? At  _ me _ ?"

"I'm so sorry, Ollie. It'll never happen again, I don't know what came over me—"

"Leave my sight. Now. Now!"

Silence.

The flowers hit the grass, bent so far and dangerously.

The red looked like blood.

* * *

"Hey, Ralph?"

He startled, dropping the bundle of flowers, frazzled. "Huh? Oh, hey Miss Fairfield."

She examined him for a beat, before smiling gently. "Call me Anna, dearie."

Ralph got up, setting the adonis flowers in front of him. Miss Fairfield's eyes lit up. "Ah, those were just the thing I was looking for. Will you set them in the hold section for me, dearie?"

He nodded absently, doing as he was told. All at once he couldn't talk. His voice was lodged somewhere deep into his throat. His chest. 

The flowers, red and beautiful, sat in the glass vase. He frowned at them, before turning away. He couldn't stand the sight of them.

He pulled out his phone, eyes burning.

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ Listen, all that I'm saying is that there are, like, t w o infinite things: the universe and human stupidity. _

**piggy:**

_ Its nice to know you have faith in humanity, simon _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ But have you s e en Roger? Absolute fool, that man, I just witnessed him slip into a swimming pool. _

_ He hit his face on the way down. _

_ I almost feel bad. _

**piggy:**

_ dont be :) _

**ralph:**

_ ominous _

**piggy:**

_ Oh! _

_ Ralph!! _

_ Hows loquacious??? _

_ Miss fairfield aint giving you too much trouble, is she?? _

**ralph:**

_ shes fine :D _

_ loquacious is great :DD _

_ very cold _

_ very nice _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ Oh, you're working at Loquacious? Lovely store. Especially that Miss Farfield. Ah, she's so nice. _

**ralph:**

_ the way you try to type all your thoughts into one text box unsettles me _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ I just don't want any confusion. _

**ralph:**

_ it physically _

_ hurts me _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ Well, I think it's better than how you text! So choppy! _

**ralph:**

_ hh, okay, sure _

Ralph put his phone away, sitting on the counter, pulling his knees into his chest. He breathed in. Out.

Motions.

"I'm heading out now, dearie, so you should too!" Miss Fairfield's voice came from somewhere by the door.

He wished he could say something. But his throat was shut and his mouth was too.

"Did you already clock out? Hello? Dearie?"

The door shut and Ralph was alone in what was essentially a freezer.

He was so cold.

* * *

He was numb. His bones froze to his skin. One and the same. Joints melded with tendons. Ligaments. Muscle.

Numb.

His skin wasn't real.

It wasn't  _ his _ .

Someone else's.

Paper against cement.

Fake.

Faint blue against white.

He couldn't feel himself.

Therefore, he never existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'tell them to comment'
> 
> so i guess i have to tell you to comment :)
> 
> ~ Kronos


	5. sareureuk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (adv) describes the sound and the motion of snowflakes slowly melting in a warmer temperature or under the morning sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for the oscillating mood shifts, hehehe
> 
> also, i know she's gonna murder me for this, but the youtuber minecraft au rightfully goes to my favorite person, LegitFanficHours ;)

Jack dodged the basketball hurdling at his head, sending Maurice a deadpan look. Maurice had the decency to look sheepish.

"My bad!" he called out, laughing nervously. 

"How did you aim so terribly? The basket's over there. _Over there_. What the hell?" Jack pulled a face.

"In my defence, Roger's pass threw me off."

"It was a brilliant pass, shut up," Roger said blandly. 

"I'm not that long!"

"Stretch."

Maurice sputtered indignantly, making helpless arm gestures. Jack laughed at his misery as his phone buzzed with messages.

He pulled it out. They were all from Simon Nevison. He groaned.

**Simon Nevison:**

_Hey, Merridew. Have you seen Ralph Madison? Blond hair, blue-green eyes?_

**Jack Merridew:**

_I know who Madison is, Nevison. But, I haven't seen him around. Sorry_

**Simon Nevison:**

_Are you sure? No one's seen him since yesterday._

**Jack Merridew:**

_Yeah, not my problem, sorry_

**Simon Nevison:**

_Alright. Could you ask Maurice too?_

**Jack Merridew:**

_Sure_

**Simon Nevison:**

_Thank you!_

"I hate basketball," Maurice grumbled, sitting down next to Jack. "Mostly the basket part. Can never get the ball in the basket."

"Have you tried _aiming_?"

"Yes! A lot! Aggressively!"

"Not hard enough."

"I hate you."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Sure. Oh, have you seen Madison around?"

"Huh? Ralph? Uh." Maurice scratched his cheek. He slowly shook his head. "No. The last I heard of him was when Simon told me he was working at Loquacious. I love that shop. It deserves better." He had his phone out, typing rapidly.

"Then shouldn't Nevison be asking Lo-whatever where Madison is?"

"He probably already has." Maurice's face suddenly scrunched up. "What the fuck."

"What is it?" Jack leaned against Maurice's shoulder, staring at his screen. It was a map with a pinpointed location. "What's that?"

"Oh, I, uh. How do I put this—I installed a Find Your Phone app on his uh, phone. And it's synced to mine. But this says he's still at Loquacious. You don't think he left his phone there, do you, because that would suck since it's closed for the week."

Jack grinned painfully. "There's only one way to find out, huh?"

"We are not breaking and entering."

"Breaking and entering?" Roger stopped mid-dunk, hanging off the rim. "Are we committing a crime?"

"I refuse." Maurice pulled out his pocket hose, smacking Jack's head. "That's not what an office TA would do!"

"Then don't come."

"I can't just stand by and _watch_." Maurice tried to strangle Jack with the hose. Jack merely pulled it off, throwing it at Roger, who caught it and dunked it, still hanging.

"I guess I have to come," Maurice grumbled, making grabby hands for the hose. "Let's go before I regret this and tell the principal, you losers."

* * *

"I'm telling the principal." Maurice began getting up, an exasperated expression on his face.

"Ah, ah, gimme a sec." Jack wiggled the thin metal rod in the lock as Roger yanked Maurice back down. "And we're in."

"I hate you people." Maurice opened the door, ducking in. "Oh, it's so cold. How do plants live in this condition?"

"Miss Fairfield is magic," Roger said seriously, following him into the shop.

"You're welcome," Jack muttered after them. He strode in, dragging his fingers against the cave-like walls. "It's so misty."

"It fits the mood, Merridew." Maurice raised his hand, jostling the blue lights that draped off the clay pots of flowers. Flowers that he could only vaguely make out.

Roger waved a hand through the vapor, sending it rippling through the shop. Maurice, who was leading the way, sent Roger a nasty look. He took them to the back of the store, and it grew colder.

There was a figure on the counter. Small and dark. Very much human.

"Ralph?" Maurice asked, confused.

The figure didn't respond. Hell, Jack didn't even know if it was awake. He strode forward, shoving Maurice and Roger aside, jostling the person. Definitely Ralph. An unconscious Ralph.

"That's rough," Roger deadpanned as Maurice rushed forward, pressing his fingers to Ralph's neck.

"Well, he isn't dead," Jack said.

"Shut up," Maurice hissed, scooping Ralph up. "He's freezing, we need to take him to the hospital—"

"Oh yeah, and make him pay the fine for riding the damn whee-woo wagon?"

"You can pay the fine, dumbass!" Maurice was rubbing up and down on Ralph's arms. His fingertips were dark blue.

"I don't have to do shit!"

"Moral obligation!"

"What morals!"

"Maybe ask Ralph?" Roger interjected.

They both looked down at the person in question. Ralph was blinking blearily up at Maurice, entirely confused and dazed.

"Jesus Christ, Ralph!" Maurice set him back on the counter. "Why are you in here?"

"Where?" Ralph looked around. "Oh. It's cold."

"No shit," Jack snickered. Maurice glared at him before ripping off his jacket. Jack complained but didn't stop him, ignoring the cold chill biting into his skin.

"Have you been here since Friday?"

"What's today?" Ralph took up the jacket.

"Saturday!"

"Oh. Then I guess." He tucked his knees against his chest.

"We're taking you to the hospital—"

"No." Ralph jumped off the counter, stumbling for a brief second, before weaving between Roger and Maurice. "I'm going home."

"Simon'll send you the hospital," Jack said, patting his bare arms.

"I said I was going home?"

"No, Ralph you're fine!" Maurice scrambled after him. "Okay! We won't take you to the hospital! Just, go to your flat."

Ralph stared at him blankly, before shrugging. "And what if I say no to that?"

"I will hurt you." Maurice pointed at Ralph. "Roger, carry him."

Roger did as Maurice said, sort of confirming Jack's theory that Maurice and Roger had _some_ kind of benefits thing with one another. A kind of 'side-bitch' type thing. But Jack, funnily enough, couldn't tell _who_ was the side-bitch.

"I can walk," Ralph pointed out.

"No you can't, you've been here for a whole day." Maurice began ushering Ralph, and consequently Roger, out of Loquacious. "We're going to my place."

"Oh no, your place." Jack started after them. "That place is a mess."

"I will _hurt_ you."

Jack shrugged, opening the door for Roger. "I'd really like to see you try."

Maurice sent him a _look_. He shoved them halfway through campus. Then into his room, which was larger than most regular flats. Maurice forced Roger to set Ralph on the couch, wrapping him up in a blanket.

"Okay!" Maurice said, setting his laptop down in front of the half-awake Ralph. "Since Jack was being a little bitchboy, I'm gonna expose him right here, right now."

"Wait." Jack glanced up, lowering his phone. "You can't possibly mean—"

Maurice turned the laptop around. There on the screen was his biggest regret: _xXmountain_dewXx_.

He lunged forward, but Maurice yanked it away, already booting up a video. Jack sat beside Roger, covering his face, but he could hear the breathy sounds of crying and panic.

He raised his head, seeing his thirteen-year-old self, cowering under the covers because he was afraid of what he thought to be Herobrine, right outside his bedroom window. Looking back at it now, he could clearly see that it was a mildly exasperated Roger, dressed in a ratty bright blue shirt. But thirteen-year-old Jack Merridew had been absolutely out of his mind, whimpering to a camera, listing his will, sending his love. And in live stream format. _Livestream._

All of his thousand subscribers had seen it. Thinking back on it, the fact that he had a thousand subscribers was a goddamn miracle.

He could see now that people had been commenting that 'Herobrine' appeared suspiciously like Roger in Maurice's clothes, and he was internally cringing at it all.

"Look at him," Maurice said through laughter, nearly crying with glee. "Little bitchboy."

There was a faint smile on Ralph's pale lips. "Why's he cry'n'?"

"Look over there—quote-unquote Herobrine, haunting him outside the game. In reality, it's Roger, because I was so tired of Jack's shit."

"You played M'ncraf'?" Ralph turned droopy eyes to Jack. "An' put it on Y'tube?"

"No," he snapped.

"He definitely did," Maurice said, howling with laughter. “He would post it here, and I had the fortune of being his friend at the time. Or maybe misfortune. Hm. Anyway, I was the one who told him about Herobrine in the first place. You should have seen him at first. He was like this, but twenty-four seven.”

"You are the reason I hate."

"Thank you." Maurice selected a different video. This one of Jack, in a similar position to the live stream, this time in the bathroom, in the tub, shaky camera and all. Fortunately, or maybe not, this was a video, not a live stream.

Jack moved to turn off the video. But Ralph was laughing weakly and Maurice kept sending him death glares, and jeez, he didn't wanna pull a Roger, so he held back, biting his tongue.

The heater clicked on, droning over Maurice's cackling. He was warm.

* * *

In the end, Maurice forced Ralph to stay. Then forced Jack and Roger to stay, more due to the time than freezing to death in a goddamn freezer. Jack didn't mind; Maurice's flat was awfully big, bigger than most of the normal dorms. Maurice had explained it away with the simple words of 'Office TA.'

Ralph had gotten Maurice's king bed. Roger and Maurice elected to share the pull-out couch. Jack got the futon.

He stared at the ceiling for an hour after he woke up at exactly five in the morning on Sunday. There were glow in the dark stars in Maurice's room, littering the ceiling, creating constellations Jack couldn't, for the life of him, remember the names of. Maybe if he tried harder he could.

He didn't want to.

The sky swam. An infinite sea, or maybe it was finite, he just couldn't see the end of it.

The universe was laid bare for him, across a childishly decorated ceiling, and he wanted _more_ . He wanted to hold the planets between his fingers and _squeeze_ , breathing in the stardust and life. More more more.

He reached out a hand, before letting it fall. Ralph, from the bed, high high up on the bed, let out a pained sound, before becoming quiet once more. Ralph was so much closer to the stars than Jack. That didn't seem even remotely fair.

The bed shook slightly as Ralph sat up. Jack didn't bother pretending he was asleep, instead keeping his eyes on the galaxy.

Ralph made a sound, before saying nothing at all. But that solace didn't last. "Are you okay? Jack?"

"Don't you ever wonder where the universe ends?"

Ralph snorted. "No?"

“Hm. You should. It really makes you question everything. Because maybe the universe ends.”

“But, doesn’t it keep expanding? So there isn’t an end. Infinity expanding is still infinity at the end of the day.”

“Maybe there is an end, though. You can’t definitively say no.”

“Yes, I can. The universe is infinite—why are we having this conversation?”

"Because any other topic of conversation would bore me." Jack forced himself up and onto his hands, staring at the cheap stars more intently. Ralph followed his gaze.

They were quiet. The stars slowly lost their luminescence as the sun peeked through the curtains, casting rays across the ceiling. Orange pink yellow. The universe had never looked brighter.

Jack took a deep breath, shutting his eyes. Dim stars were scorched across his eyelids anyway, so it didn't matter.

Visions of gods passed past his eyes. An ancient deity's moonlit visage. But multiplied, all of them lined up, awaiting their mortal demise.

His eyes snapped open. "Moment of crisis over." Jack stood up, brushing nonexistent dust of his clothing.

Ralph scrambled off the bed. "That was a crisis?"

"What? No."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I just said." Jack busied himself folding up the futon and tucking it away in the corner. Mostly to get away from Ralph's inquisitive eyes. He'd never do actual work for Maurice otherwise.

Jack paused in folding the covers. Ralph was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the stars.

Jack rolled his eyes, throwing a blanket at the back of his head. "C'mon. I think Maurice is awake."

Ralph mumbled in agreement, stumbling after him. The stars faded to white.

* * *

Maurice's narrowed eyes scrutinized Ralph, and Jack almost felt bad. Almost. He was smothering laughter, a hand over his mouth as Ralph kept shuffling in his seat, hands wrapped around his cup of tea.

"What were you doing in Loquacious during closing?" Maurice eventually asked, sipping his own tea, eyes solely trained on Ralph.

"Um. Miss Fairfield locked up while I wasn't in the main room, and you know how misty it gets in there." Ralph laughed awkwardly, seemingly finding his teacup to be the most interesting thing in the room.

"Really? Because you had your phone, you could have easily called someone to let you out." Maurice raised an eyebrow. "So then why didn't you?"

Jack couldn't see Ralph's face, but his ears were bright red. His fingers were white around the handle of the cup. He was all colors.

"Ralph?" Maurice frowned worriedly, leaning over, hand hovering above Ralph's head, lingering and uncertain. "You okay, mate?"

"I have somewhere to be," Ralph said quietly. He pushed the cup forward gently, getting to his feet. "Thank you for the tea."

"You haven't drunk any of it," Jack said with a snort.

"Jack, shush." Maurice hurried around the table, trying to stop Ralph from leaving. But he seemed deadset, phone clutched in one hand, now fully charged, and the other trying to move Maurice out of the way.

"Let him go?" Roger suggested, staring out the window. 

"But." Maurice's grip on Ralph's wrist seemed to loosen. "Ralph?"

"I have to go. Sorry."

The sound of the shutting door was goddamn nearly a sonic boom. Maurice sat on the table, jostling the tea. Rings of moisture lined the bottoms of cups.

"He probably just feels embarrassed about the fact that he spent two days in there and not once did he think to call anyone," Jack reassured, patting Maurice's slouched shoulder.

Maurice sighed, before plastering on a smile. "The office is gonna fire me, I swear." He gave a forced laugh. Roger shrugged, fingers drumming on the table.

Jack ran a hand through his hair, before reaching over and knocking his fingers against Roger's arm. "C'mon. I need a hit."

They left Maurice in the kitchen, surrounded by cold tea and lingering guilt. He'd join them soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to comment down below, hit that like button, smash the subscribe button, and ring that notification bell - Jack Merridew, aged 13
> 
> ~ Kronos


	6. ragaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (n) a late night wanderer who enjoys talking long into the early hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me?? projecting onto multiple british lads?? its more likely than youd think

In hindsight, sprinting out of Maurice's flat was probably not the best of ideas. For one, he likely concerned him. He also didn't know where he was, which was fun.

He shuffled into a different deadend, groaning internally. He glanced around, before remembering he was a dumbass, but a dumbass with a phone.

His phone was a receptacle for a million 'where are you' texts, all, obviously, aimed at him.

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ Ralph, I swear to our Holy Lord, and Jesus Christ who art in heaven, if you have died I will resurrect you and pin you to a cross. _

**piggy:**

_ Im sure hes fine, simon _

_ Calm down _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ He better be. I've never felt so worried. That's saying something! I work with little old ladies and I have incredibly reckless little brothers and sisters! _

**piggy:**

_ Just calm down, simon _

_ He'll come back _

Today

**ralph:**

_ hey, hi, um, sorry?? _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ RALPH, I SWEAR TO EVERY DEITY THAT EVER EXISTED, CHRISTIAN AND OTHERWISE, I WILL CRUCIFY YOU. _

**piggy:**

_ I cant believe jesus died for this _

**ralph:**

_ me too _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ I DON'T CARE, WHERE WERE YOU??? _

**ralph:**

_ funny story _

_ a freezer _

**piggy:**

_ Omg, ellen, you didnt _

**ralph:**

_ :D _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? _

**ralph:**

_ f r e e z er _

_ Loquacious _

_ freezer _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ DID YOU NOT HAVE YOUR PHONE WITH YOU?? _

**ralph:**

_ i, _

**jesus christ ^-^:**

_ I'm so done with you. I'm going to take a nap. I swear. _

**ralph:**

_ i love you too _

_ anywho, _

_ piggy _

_ lets play wheres ralph _

_ bc im l o s t _

**piggy:**

_ I swear _

_ Anything notable? _

**ralph:**

_ appear to be in a sized down chinatown _

**piggy:**

_ Omw _

Ralph pushed his phone deep into his pocket, sighing. He plopped down on the curb, idly watching people purchase their items and leave. Ralph suddenly realized just how open Castle Rock's open policy was. The grounds bled into the surrounding neighborhoods and stores. He couldn't really tell where Castle Rock began and the rest of the city ended.

It was charming, in a sense. It seemed to imply that Castle Rock trusted its neighbors enough to not storm the high school and shoot the place up, which was a surprisingly normal occurrence if the news was anything to go by.

"Surprisingly, downsized Chinatown didn't help much." Piggy sat down beside Ralph. "I forgot how much of this China district lines Castle Rock. That and the Mexico district on the other size."

"Damn, all that diversity and all I've seen is white people."

"Not true. Simon is  _ probably _ Middle Eastern."

"What do you mean ' _ probably _ '?"

"I mean that I haven't asked because that seems lowkey rude."

"It's not—okay." Ralph's eyes traveled to the scuffle down the street. An upturned bag of groceries lay on the ground, its contents scattered across the sidewalk. The two men were arguing, arms gesticulating wildly.

Ralph shook his head. For whatever reason, for a split second, he saw a woman and a man. Two parents. 

And maybe the groceries were a child.

Ralph stood, still staring as Piggy scrambled up, brushing dirt off his pants. He smiled at Piggy, feeling the strain of it across his cheeks. "Let's get to planning that campaign, yeah?"

Piggy blinked. "Okay?" he said, uncertainty colouring his voice.

They left as the two men separated, merely grumbling and nothing more. The groceries were left abandoned, crushed underfoot.

* * *

Ralph examined the poster he and Simon had spent the majority of the day creating. The sprawling lands of Castle Rock, dotted with chatting students, all painted by Simon's hand. 

Simon had, unfortunately shot down Ralph's idea of scrawling 'Jack's a feral bitch' across the image, instead replacing it with 'Believe in the People.' Lame, in Ralph's opinion, but Simon knew what he was doing.

"There we go." Simon grinned at his work. Ralph would go as far as saying he looked proud. "I'll let it dry overnight and you can start hanging them up by tomorrow."

Ralph held up a hand for a high-five. "That's what I like to hear. Thanks, Simon."

"It was no problem."

Ralph stood, admiring the poster as Simon ran his hands under the tap, rinsing paint off his skin.

"You also have to start writing your big speech to win people over. Isn't that soon?"

"Mhm. Overmorrow. Tuesday."

"Cheers." Simon shot him a smile over his shoulder, still rubbing at his hands.

Ralph glanced at the time. "I'll be turning in now. Thanks again!"

He left the poster perched on the table, walking into his room, exhaling loudly, running a hand through his hair. That speech. Oh, what was he supposed to say?

He pulled out his laptop from his bag, setting it on his desk. He stared at the blank word document. Maybe he would've actually gotten it done if he didn't spend an entire day in a freezer.

He groaned, leaning back in his chair, covering his face. What had he been  _ doing _ ? He had zero recollection of the previous day. From his perspective, it had been a blink, from hearing Miss Fairfield leave and seeing Maurice.

An instant.

To be told that was a day? He'd thought it a joke. But it very much wasn't, and it was now very much Sunday.

He wrinkled his nose as the screen, crossing his arms and glaring at the offending white screen. He weakly kicked at the leg of the desk, mumbling a faint string of curses at the flashing cursor.

The time at the bottom of the screen informed him that it was one in the morning. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

There was a tapping at his window. He had a bizarre moment of wondering if Edgar Allan Poe had revived to reenact his famous poem,  _ The Raven _ . But he knew it was nothing more than the fact that he'd slept very little, and the only time he had slept, his dreams had been more like nightmares.

He waited and listened. The tapping occurred again, but he could now see that it was due to a flying projectile.

Like some shit romcom.

He narrowed his eyes, rushing to the window, throwing it up, glaring down into the darkness. He could see the hair colour a mile away.

"What the hell, Merridew?" he hissed, glancing around, trying to ensure that no one else in the dorms were awake.

"You ran out of Maurice's flat," Jack said, as though it explained everything. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his jean jacket, a relaxed set to his shoulders, a vaguely conceited look marring his face. “He was worried, you know?”

Ralph squinted down at Jack, leaning over the windowsill. “Oh, yeah? And since when do you care what Maurice thinks? I’ve heard a lot about you Jack Merridew.”

Jack grinned, white teeth glinting in the moonlight. Ralph bit his lip, before snapping the curtains closed, slipping on a sweater and some flip-flops, quietly sneaking out of the flat. Jack was, fortunately, still in the front lawn, methodically pulling out grass and tying it up into little knots, setting them all in a row.

“What are you doing?”

Jack didn’t look up, deft fingers pushing grass into a noose. “Grass,” he said in lieu of an answer.

“That doesn’t help.” Ralph stepped out from under the awning, approaching Jack, who suddenly sprang to his feet, a vibrant smile on his face.

“Let’s go to Mexico.”

“ _ What _ .”

Jack nodded enthusiastically. “Mexico. The city down there? I dunno, Castle Rock calls it the Mexico district. ‘Cause there’s a lot of mexicans?” Jack was smothering laughter.

Ralph blinked, before Jack was pulling him away from the building, nearly stumbling over an entire bench, almost taking Ralph down with him, the bastard. Ralph tugged Jack to a stuttering halt as they reached the end of Castle Rock grounds. He examined Jack thoroughly, before groaning at the revelation.

“It’s one in the morning on a Monday,” he began, pinching the bridge of his nose, “and you’re trying to run for president of the student council, right?”

Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Yeah?"

Ralph smacked him on the shoulder. “So why the hell are you high? Huh?”

Jack shrugged, his grin back in place. “Loosen up, Madison. These are the things I do to comfort my friends.” The last word was dragged out an obscene amount.

Ralph shook his head, rubbing his face, sheer incredulity pouring off him in waves. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Merridew. Really.”

“Well, believe it, because I went and did it.” Jack pointed to the city. “So are you coming or not?”

“Only to make sure you won’t get killed!”

“Oh, thank you, most noble and great Madison.” Jack gave a short bow, one hand making grand gestures while the other was pressed to his back.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?"

“Most definitely,” Jack said, with too much glee for the situation at hand. That is, Jack wanting to traverse streets that were foreign to Ralph while high off his ass.

Ralph, like the absolute fool he was, followed

* * *

The Mexico district was beautiful. It was vibrant colours and marigolds and murals. He was in awe. It was nighttime, obviously, but Ralph could still hear the lively sounds of a party, with loud trumpet music and singing in Spanish.

“It’s loud,” he commented stupidly. A cheer went up, as if to agree.

“They always party for a long time. You get used to it.”

“Do you?"

“Nah. We pretend that we get used to it, though.” Jack grabbed Ralph’s elbow and led him down another brightly lit street, this one lined with bodegas and mom-and-pop shops, all empty, of course, but still clinging to signs of life.

“I come by that store over there a lot. Tienda Tere? Ignore the butchering of the actual word, but, something like that. And over there is where Maurice and Roger participated in a taco eating contest and Maurice violently threw up all over the judges. Roger won, but we ignore that in favour of the fact that Maurice managed to throw up on three entire people at once.

“Oh! Over there! Past that fountain? I cracked my skull against the ground over there. Ah, good times. You see, I’m a stupid child and jumped off the fountain? I still have a scar. I think. Don’t remember.”

Jack was rambling life events at Ralph, becoming nothing more than background noise as Ralph smiled at the beautiful simplicity of the moment. He closed his eyes, inhaling.

He could remember being in Tijuana with his mother, walking down streets littered with marigold petals (“Cempasuchil,” the guide would say, in a heavily accented voice that he found very pleasant). It was one of the few happy memories he had of her.

He’d liked their music. Their way of speaking. He ate up everything about the mexican culture that there was to be experienced. And in turn he told them about his life in the UK, much to the delight of the older women.

“And you see over there?” Jack was still saying. Ralph opened his eyes. Jack was pointing directly at a large group of people, all laughing and holding beers and dancing. “Some sort of birthday party. When girls turn fifteen? Whatever, that’s not why I’m pointing. When we were younger, we actually lived around here? Still do, but farther out now. But we went to school with the birthday girl, and she had a crush on Maurice, so he panicked and ran into a wall to get out of responding to her confession.”

Jack shook his head, quiet for a second, before blinking. “What were we talking about?”

“Is there a good place to see the stars here?” Ralph asked, turning to look up at Jack.

He grinned broadly. “Yeah, yeah. Follow me. Oh, it’s such a good spot. I’m taking you to this hill, open skies, oh I love it. I don’t get to go by there often anymore, huh. Oh well. But it’s such a good spot to see the stars.”

Ralph rolled his eyes, following Jack. The stars twinkled tantalizingly above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments appreciated!! one comment is a prayer for poor, poor jack gets giggly when high :'(


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